


Jilted

by Mybrolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anger, Angst, Anthea's death, Death, Love, M/M, Marriage, Swearing, Torture, consulting husbands, kidnap, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mybrolly/pseuds/Mybrolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives but Mycroft clearly picked work over love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jilted

“It’ll be work. It’ll be some stupid bloody thing at work that’s more important than me or this sham of a bloody relationship.”

It was his wedding day, Greg should have been happy, instead he was pacing in the back room and seething with anger as time ticked past and his groom failed to show.

“I’ll kill him, I’ll fucking kill him.” 

John was on best man duty and trying his best in an attempt to calm his friend, “There’s bound to be a reason, mate, he loves you, he wouldn’t stand you up.” 

“It’s bloody work. Some crisis somewhere or some member of the Royal family has clicked their bloody fingers. It’s his fucking wedding day, you think he’d take one goddamn day off. Well I’m telling you now, there won’t be another, that’s it, that’s fucking it, John, I’m done. He wants his fucking job that badly he can fucking have it and only bloody it. Even Sherlock managed to turn up to his own damn wedding. I hate him, I fucking hate him.”

There was nothing John could say, he’d be feeling exactly the same. Anthea hadn’t shown either which made it clear it was a work issue rather than cold feet and it certainly wasn’t the first time Greg had been cast aside for work. But this was their wedding day, this was the most important day of Mycroft’s life and he has chosen to call it all off and go to work. He didn’t even call, that annoyed Greg even more, Mycroft just didn’t turn up, selfish git, he left Greg standing there in front of (mostly his) friends and family to face the reality of being jilted at the altar.

“Fuck him. Fuck him, I just….that fucking bastard.”

John made the regretful announcement to the congregation, Greg couldn’t bring himself to go back out and speak to them. Sherlock made a singular attempt to contact his brother, at his husband’s persuasion, but received no reply. According to Sherlock he would be unlikely to answer as he knew the consequences of his actions. Greg tried yelling at Sherlock, asking how he didn’t know this would happen if he knew every damn thing, he quickly apologised though, Sherlock wasn’t the Holmes his anger was aimed towards. 

“Can I stay in your spare room tonight? I can’t go back home, not with him there.” Greg asked John as he ripped his boutonniere from his lapel and threw it to the ground, becoming a visual representation of their relationship as he stamped on it and destroyed the delicate flower. 

“Of course mate, we’ll even go round and get your stuff.”

“There’s a suitcase packed for the honeymoon. Honeymoon my arse, he had no intention of leaving the office for a honeymoon, I should’ve bloody known that. I’m an idiot, he’s made a complete fool out of me.” Greg refused to cry over him, there was no way, not after what he’d done. “I really thought he loved me.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

Two days past and still no word from Mycroft, not that Greg was going to talk to him, Mycroft was dead in his eyes, at least he’d be bloody dead if Greg got his hands on him. John and Sherlock were brilliant mates, (well John was, Sherlock did as he was told by his husband) they told him he could stay as long as needed but Greg was determined to get his own place quickly and move his stuff out of Mycroft’s house, the sooner it was all over the better. 

Greg had a few days off from work which helped, he cursed when he realised he had to nip into his office briefly to use his computer. It was bloody embarrassing, people who hadn’t heard what happened came up and asked about the wedding, how it felt to be married again and when was the honeymoon. By the time he made it upstairs to his office he practically slammed shut the door to keep them all out. Mycroft bloody Holmes had made him the laughing stock of the yard. 

“Sure you don’t want to work and take your mind off it? Body’s just been found.” Sally hadn’t even bothered to knock, she rarely thought the rules applied to her. “Pretty bad condition from what I heard.” It was a tough decision to make, on the one hand Greg wasn’t too sure if he could focus on work right now, on the other he knew it would stop him thinking about how the man he loved had destroyed his heart. 

“Why not? Not like I’ve a honeymoon to go on, eh?”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

It wasn’t exactly much of a crime scene, the body had been dumped not far from the road in Brunswick Park. Sally wasn’t wrong, the poor woman’s body was in an awful state, definite signs of torture from a distance but Donovan stopped him as he went to approach the body. 

“I don’t think you should.”

“Move, Donovan, let me see the body.”

“Greg,” This instantly had him wary, Sally rarely called him Greg it was always Sir or Lestrade, “Seriously, don’t.”

Greg pushed past her, what the hell was she stopping him from, unless the woman was in a wedding dress and killed by her fiancé then it wasn’t going to bother him in his current state. He couldn’t have been more wrong. The woman’s body was covered in bruises and deep cuts, burns too on the visible areas, her outfit, a black fitted skirt and purple blouse, were slashed and ripped to the point that they barely covered her and her face…

Greg quickly stepped away, moving well out of range of the crime scene and vomited, what he saw caused him to have such a violent reaction. “Call Sherlock.” Was his first response when Donovan came to aid him, “Call everyone who needs bloody called. Now!”

The woman’s face, the bruised and beaten face, it was still clearly identifiable to the DI. The dead woman was Anthea. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

“It’s torture, two days, throat slit, no distinct terrorist markings or style. She’s a government worker, Lestrade, clearly has secrets, you don’t need me for this, it’s dull.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and made an attempt to walk away.

“Look closer at her bloody face you idiot, look past the injuries and clues.” The look of realisation of Sherlock’s face showed that the penny had dropped. 

“Where is he?” Greg’s voice full of desperation, “If she’s been tortured then he is too. Where’s Mycroft?”

There wasn’t a moment to revel in the fact that he hadn’t been jilted on his wedding day, that Mycroft did love him, he had to find him, save him and then he could think about it all. As long as Mycroft wasn’t just another body found at the side of the road, tortured and killed, everything would be fine if he could just get Mycroft home safely. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

Four days Mycroft had been missing and Greg couldn’t even investigate properly after being removed from the case due to his personal involvement. MI6 had taken over, well MI6 officially, god knows what actual branch of the government worked on rescuing such an important man. Was Mycroft even the important one to them? Did they just want their damn secrets protected? 

It drove Greg mad to sit at home, his and Mycroft’s home, waiting for news. Sherlock refused to give up his investigations thankfully and due to him not being restrained by the rules of his job or emotions toward Mycroft, (he had to have some, surely, Greg was convinced they loved each other but sibling rivalry in the Holmes household always came first)that would interfere with his searching.

Each moment that passed felt like an eternity and the marks and cuts on Anthea’s body played on Greg’s mind. They were bound to be torturing him but how? What heinous techniques were they using to get the information from the tight lipped man? Was he even still alive? Greg tried not to think of it but what if they’d got what they wanted, what if they’d killed him?

Hours were passing and Greg knew nothing about what was going on, Sherlock was convinced a tactical rescue was about to be carried out but that was only due to a deduction on the movement of black sedans from Mycroft’s office building. Sherlock wasn’t sure where they were headed, the cars left in too many directions to follow, it seemed they were back to square one. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

“We’ve secured Mr Holmes, a car will be arriving to collect you momentarily.”

That’s all the voice said and as relieved as he felt Greg couldn’t deny the twinge of sadness that it wasn’t Anthea. The two had grown close during his relationship with Mycroft, she treated him like a friend and was always honest. Anthea would’ve told him more information, how he was, where he was, this woman had just said Mycroft was secured, for all Greg knew it could be the body of Mycroft that was secured. Suddenly the dread replaced the relief again.

_Found him, that’s all I know until car collects me –GL_

Sherlock might have been informed but it was Greg’s name plastered all over the “in case of emergency” forms rather than Sherlock’s so the text seemed necessary. He had a right to know straight away, he was Mycroft’s brother and god knows what he was doing or how he was risking his life to find the missing Holmes.

The car pulled up and again Greg was reminded of the lack of Anthea. There was no assistant, no unnamed minion, just the driver and a location, St Thomas’ hospital. When they arrived the driver finally spoke to him, “Mr Lestrade, they have asked you to go to the intensive care unit.” Intensive care, Mycroft was badly injured then, was he even conscious? Was he clinging to life or did he simply just need a careful eye on him? At least it wasn’t the morgue.

Greg decided against the elevator, it took too long, he ran up the stairs instead to the third floor and along the cold sterile corridor to the ICU. It was clear when he’d reached the right place, men in black suits covered the hallway, security. The idea of showing ID when Mycroft could be in any state behind those doors only served to exasperate Greg but he obliged and finally got to speak with someone. 

“As you know, Mr Lestrade, Mycroft’s former assistant is no longer with us -”

Greg cut the woman off, annoyed at the vague formality, “Dead, she’s dead, don’t cover the fact that someone killed that lovely girl in cold blood. She likely died to save him, don’t act as if it’s nothing.”

“My name is Joanne and I’ll be filling her duties. Now, about Mr Holmes, I feel I should warn you before you step inside. Mr Holmes is badly injured, he is sedated at the moment and currently sleeping but he does keep requesting your presence and has done since he was discovered. When you go in you will find many wounds, some facial and please do not touch his right foot as this will cause him pain. He has lost a lot of blood and is very weak, things are rather touch and go at the moment, Mr Lestrade. I’ll wait out here in case you need anything.”

Greg nodded, taking in all the information. Wounds were to be expected, god knows what happened to his foot, probably broken and the blood loss, poor Mycroft, the sooner he got in to see him the better. 

Joanne’s description and multiple visits to victims had left Greg prepared for the sight of Mycroft lying in the hospital bed, tubes and machines everywhere, blood and fluids pumping into his arm. At least he _thought_ he’d be prepared but nothing quiet readied him for the seeing the man he loved like this, the man who was always so strong and in control completely broken and weak. It was a complete shock to his system. He walked over to the bed, taking note of how pale Mycroft looked and how weak his blood pressure was according to the monitors, “Get better, Myc.” He whispered as he pushed back the wispy curl of hair he always adored, “I love you, you have to be strong, okay?”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

Mycroft was unconscious for hours, waking for moments, uttering Greg’s name through the oxygen mask, or what sounded like Greg’s name anyhow, and falling back to sleep. Sherlock and John arrived to see him, Sherlock’s face showing no concern although John assured Greg it was otherwise.

The former soldier looked over the file and his face dropped. He tried acting as though everything was normal by simply returning to conversation only to be called out by his husband. John attempted to shush him but Sherlock was insistent on knowing what was wrong, the look in Greg’s eyes was all the pleading it took.

“His foot, he’s had two toes cut off the right and the left ankle is badly broken. He’s been badly burned and seems infected. His stab wounds in the abdomen are deep and his BP levels are below what I’d expect with this level of transfusion. He needs surgery for a few breaks but that won’t happen until he’s fit for it” John paused before concluding with words he wished he’d never say, “He’s barely stable at the minute.” 

“Oh god, Myc.” Greg gripped his fiancé’s hand, “You’re so strong, you always have been, I know you’ll pull through this, love. I’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you that I doubted you, we’ll have the wedding, you’ll be my husband and I’ll bloody love you forever. I’m so sorry, Myc.”

“You weren’t to know, Greg.”

“Don’t John, just don’t. I shouldn’t have doubted him, I know he loves me, I shouldn’t have ever thought that he’d stand me up like that, I should’ve known something was wrong. He’s not a complete asshole, if he was going to call off the wedding then he would’ve actually called or spoken to me. I was a bloody idiot. I just hope he can forgive me.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

The next few hours seemed like an eternity and Greg harassed nurses and doctors each time Mycroft’s blood pressure dropped. He continued to get worse as time went on though each lucid period lasted longer. Greg made promises and begged him to fight, John held his husbands hand and tried to stop him hiding from reality in his mind, Sherlock just remained silent. 

“Gre-” Mycroft’s weak voice was quickly cut off by his need to breathe. “Sor…Sorry”

The DI squeezed his partners hand and kissed his cheek in sheer relief to have him there. “Don’t you apologise to me, love, that’s my job. I was a fool, complete fool, I thought you’d left me.”

“Never.” The word was barely audible but Greg knew the conviction behind it, Mycroft loved him, he wanted the wedding and the future together, it made him feel so much worse for doubting the man. 

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear, Myc. You hear me? Me and you forever. We’ll get you better, get you home and we’ll have that wedding, honeymoon, keep you away from work for a while. You’ll be relaxing and I’ll take care of you love, I promise.”

There was a silence as Mycroft attempted to stroke his partners hand with his thumb, eventually a croak came from behind the oxygen mask, “-Thea?”

Ah. How was Greg meant to tell him she was dead? That the poor woman was tortured and her body dumped at the roadside as if she were nothing. Anthea was so much more to Mycroft than just an employee, she was a friend, he trusted her and that was rare in his world. Anthea was a confidant, she knew the pressures of the job and the stress he had on his shoulders, she went above and beyond the call of duty and would protect him at all costs, which is likely why she lost her life. She was the one that finally convinced Mycroft to date Greg, they owed her so much, her death was only going to hurt Mycroft more. Greg chose to ignore the question, act as though he hadn’t heard it, when Mycroft had some strength he would tell him but no sooner. This was Mycroft Holmes though, no matter what state he was in he always knew when something was being kept from him and Greg watched as a tear fell from the injured man’s eye. 

“I’m sorry, Myc. I’m so damn sorry. But you’ll get better and the bastards are dead, her life won’t be in vain. And I’m telling you now, we’re going to do it, I know we said we’re too old but I think we should have a kid, Myc. Adopt, surrogate, whatever is best for us. Marriage and a kid, and if it’s a little girl then we’ll name her after Anthea. That brilliant woman will never be forgotten love, I promise you that.” The side of Mycroft’s lips curled briefly into a smile before it fell again. “I love you. I bloody do, Mycroft. You’re everything to me and I never want to lose you. We’re going to have everything we talked about. We can retire to that town in France you love, a little vineyard, our child playing with our dog, having lunch on the veranda and a glass of wine as we watch the sunset. We can have the dream life, Myc. Get you away from Sherlock too, eh?” Greg chuckled lightly and John smiled, holding Sherlock’s hand tighter, he knew his husband wasn’t coping as well as he appeared. “Sounds good, doesn’t it love? You can stuff yourself on cheese and I’ll eat all the pastries, we will grow old and fat together, side by side. I can’t wait to get that ring on your finger. Vows or not, you’re my husband.” 

Mycroft reached wearily for the oxygen mask and Greg gently lifted it away. “L-love…you.”

“I know you do, Myc, I’m sorry I doubted it.” Greg placed the mask back on much to Mycroft’s annoyance, “Don’t give me that look, you need it, you have to get better.” 

Mycroft kept slowly stroking Greg’s hand with his thumb until he fell back to sleep. The DI lifted his hand and kissed it, hating how weak his partner was. He’d never seen him like this, Mycroft was always strong, always in control and now he was as feeble as a child. Greg prayed it wouldn’t last long, Mycroft was a man of dignity, he’d fight to have his control again, to be the man everyone knew him to be. 

Greg’s head jerked up as the machines bleeped, he jumped off the bed terrified. “It’ll just be the monitor’s come off.” John attempted to calm Greg as he rose and checked Mycroft over before quickly pushing the doctor’s call button and lowering the bed. Mycroft was going into cardiac arrest and needed CPR urgently. 

Nurses attempted to usher Greg and Sherlock from the room, claiming they needed the space and they should wait outside. Greg protested, declaring Mycroft as his husband and he had a right to stay. All noise around him turned white and each movement seemed in slow motion as he watched the doctors use the defibrillator on the man he loved. Somehow he ended up outside the room with John and Sherlock, desperate to get inside but finding his legs were unable to hold him up at the moment. 

“What the hell is happening, John?”

“They’ll be shocking his heart back into rhythm, it’s likely shock and stress, his body has been through a lot. Don’t worry, the doctors are used to this, they’ll do everything possible for him.” John wasn’t sure which of the three of them he was trying to reassure in that moment. Between them all they’d all seen this happen before, they knew the possible outcomes and they knew how weak Mycroft was. It was around twenty minutes before the doctor came out to them, though to Greg it seemed like an eternity. 

Greg’s world completely stopped as the doctor told him that they did all they could. Everything crumbled around him as he realised that Mycroft, his partner, the man he loved was dead. How was he meant to cope without him? He’d only managed the last few days out of sheer anger, he’d still missed him so damn much. What was his future without Mycroft in it? He didn’t want one without Mycroft, there was no point without him. 

Someone was hugging him, John most likely but he didn’t register it. Greg was just a shadow in that moment. He felt himself leave his body and run away, as far as he could, away from the lies that the doctor told him, he ran to find Mycroft but he’d never find him, the doctor wasn’t lying. 

Nothing was going to seem right again, nothing could ever _be_ right again.

Greg’s heart was shattered into a million pieces. 

Mycroft Holmes was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I tried. Not entirely happy with it so if you read to the end then thank you so much and.... sorry.


End file.
